


Grand Buffet

by asyndese



Category: One Piece
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Drunk Sex, Half-dressed is best, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, No homo except WAY homo, Oral Fixation, PWP, Post-TS, Sanji is a pervert, Zoro's walking headache, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28199376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asyndese/pseuds/asyndese
Summary: If there was one thing Zoro knew, it was that you could always trust Sanji's inclinations to do a beautiful 180 as soon as he was drunk. Luckily, Zoro was more than equipped to handle it.
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 20
Kudos: 217





	Grand Buffet

**Author's Note:**

> So I heard you people like porn. (It's me, I'm people.)

The bed creaked with his weight when he fell into it, limbs heavy from drink and exhaustion of the day. Usually he didn't tire so fast, but that dumb function Nami had forced them to attend had really depleted his social reservoir until no patience for diplomatic palaver was left in him. Once he'd started to snap at the vice president or council member or whatever his dumb position on this lame island-kingdom had been, he'd decided enough was enough and no amount of booze was going to make this evening any more tolerable.

Fighting other pirates and assholes was one thing, he had no issue with that, never would. There was something to be said about the easy logistics of an honest sword fight, you knew who you were, and who your opponent was. No muddled loyalties and smooth talking needed. Just avoid the sharp end of their blade and stay alive long enough to cut them open. Easy. 

But politicians? 

They smiled and wrung their hands and bowed their heads, all the while planning to stab a knife in your back and that of your friends. Made seductive promises intended to be broken at the next best moment. He had to learn that lesson the hard way from Beppo, that little cunt, and he'd seen it play out too often ever since. 

Perhaps one of the reasons why he followed Luffy, would even walk to hell and back for him, why he protected his nakama with everything he had. That crazy strawhat crew of theirs, full of mischief, gave him as much a headache as they gave him a home, but they weren't dishonest. They recognized evil when they saw it and did not hesitate to punch it in the face, fuck all consequences.

He clenched his fists, remembering just how much he'd wanted to wipe that smarmy smile off that one greasy minister's weasel-face, too, regardless of the diplomatic mess afterward. His knuckles had ached from holding back not to just do it right then and there at the banquet. Bastard really had thought he could bribe Roronoa Zoro to do his dirty bidding with promises of slaves and gold or whatever shit he thought would win him his favor.

He’d not sent him to an early grave, of course not, though it had been a near thing. 

Nami’s warning glare from across the lavish marble hall had seen to that, stopping him right before he actually unsheathed one of his swords. She’d probably sensed his rising ire gathering like a stormcloud like she sensed the weather. Zoro could have sworn she was born for this shit, which perhaps made sense considering her history with the fishmen, a natural skill she'd honed just to stay alive. 

He'd left the man standing where he was and instead pushed through the crowd in irritation, shaking off the tension in his shoulders. 

It was like he was the only one who could see the manipulation, how a few probing questions revealed only fool’s gold underneath the grandeur. But the rest of his nakama had seemed to have a merry time regardless; Luffy swinging from the chandelier high above them, laughing all the while akin to a cheeky monkey. Usopp, surrounded by men and women in silly hats and silk, boasting and bragging about impossible feats, a natural storyteller. And Brook on the stage, engaging the band in an impromptu concert. 

The idiot cook probably had gone away to swirl and twirl around some unfortunate ladies of the court in the hopes to woo them with his excessive devotion. Maybe he'd get lucky for once. The people attending seemed to be the kind of scum that would use anything and everything to their advantage even if it meant pretending to be impressed by tales of bravery, athletic prowess, clever compositions, or perverted expressions.

That useless kingdom did not deserve any of them. 

Zoro had not cared one way or another, beyond wanting to keep them out of those scheming clutches and he'd passed Franky and Robin on his way out, waving their concerned questions aside. 

They, at least, were not strangers to this whole farce and would surely keep an eye out for untoward advances — of any kind.

Now finally retired to this disgustingly big room with its even more questionable decorations of gold leaf, marble and mahogany and worst of all, pearl-white _embroideries_ , Zoro tugged at his bow tie, trying to get the blasted thing off of him. 

Why was it so freaking tight? Did the shitty Curl use a stapler on him when he tied it for him?? There was no need to strangle him with it.

He only managed to choke himself the more he pulled at it. Useless. Scowling, he gentled his hands to a more careful motion to slowly undo the knot, forcefully calm. Once the bow tie came off, he sat up long enough to shrug out of his jacket, letting it drop where it may and then promptly fell back onto the mattress where his head sunk deep into the fluffy pillow. 

Too soft. 

Everything was _too soft._

He frowned at the canopy of the bed. More brocade and heavy embroidery. _Tch_.

He doubted he'd be able to sleep. He already missed the swing of the hammock, the back and forth of the ship under his feet, riding on the waves. The salty spray of the sea, Sunny taking them towards grander, better adventures. The ocean seemed inconceivably far away though it was probably only a day's journey from the palace. Here, there was only the smell of rose oil and incense, cloying enough to make him dizzy. 

It was probably meant to be soothing, to instil a sense of uncanny peace, tempt him into the false belief he was _safe_.

 _What a load of bullshit,_ he thought grimly and reached for his swords that he had laid down on the bed right next to him in reassurance of their protection.

His fingers kept stroking up and down the sayas of his swords, swirling, mindless patterns that did more to calm his roaring thoughts than the booze or this room did. Wouldn’t be surprised if there were assassins hiding behind the window curtains at all, biding their time to strike. Zoro would need no more than a fraction of a second to draw Shusui should anyone try to attack him. But nobody did. Not yet, anyway, no matter how hard he frowned at the darkest shadows in the room and little by little, he could feel exhaustion start to weigh down his limbs and tug at his eyelid. 

After a while, even the bedding seemed to become comfortable, in its own way. Despite that, he had a hard time fully falling asleep. For the longest time, he simply listened to the hypnotic crackle of the coal in the fireplace as it spat embers and cast a warm, embracing glow over him.  
  
In the distance, the low drumming beat of the banquet’s _accompaniment_ (Zoro snorted, fucking cook and his fancy words he constantly tried to drill into Zoro’s brain) drifted through the walls, picking up in speed and pitch now and then. He could hear voices echoing dully through the halls, too, of guests coming and going but never so close as to be of any consequences or causing him to feel cautious. 

When the door to his room unexpectedly creaked open, he blinked and pushed himself up hurriedly to reach for Shusui in reflex. He must have fallen asleep at some point, or at least dozed, for he could not remember when the fire had died down. 

The light from the hallway was nearly blinding from where it cut a sharp line across the floor. 

"Oooh," a dark figure slurred, swaying and grabbing the frame as the door opened wider. "It's the sossy weameed... head. _Marimo_ -ball. Guess... it's the wrong room. Fffhahaha. I got lost just like you. Fucking idiot."

Scowling, Zoro sheathed Shusui again, perhaps more energetically than she deserved. 

"What do you want." Truth be told, he had no idea whose room he was in. He'd just entered the first one he'd seen on his way to the quarters in the hope it would be unoccupied.

"Mh, whatcha think?" Sanji leered and pushed himself inside. 

Zoro rolled his good eye. "Dunno, you tell me." 

“Pfff,” Sanji blew him a raspberry, without style or self-awareness, before he closed the door with his foot hard enough for it to rattle. Dust snowed from the cracked plaster. 

So. Good ol’ dartbrow was gonna stay and make himself a nuisance, as usual. That suited Zoro fine. He wasn’t tired any longer anyway.

Laying back down again with his arms laced behind his head, he watched the shit-faced cook stagger through the near dark of the room, pristine shoes scuffing the heavy carpet in his stumble. He gave his surroundings a cursory glance before he started to engage his suit jacket in a short but vicious struggle in order to take it off, trapping his arms in the sleeves and twisting and turning around like a dog chasing its own tail.

Zoro gave a bark of a laugh. Sanji never failed to be high entertainment in his antics and there were few pastimes Zoro loved more than watching him make a fool of himself. Which he did plenty, all on his own.

Eventually the blond man won his one-sided fight and he shook the jacket off by one sleeve so it landed in a wrinkled heap in a corner. His shoes followed the same trajectory, once he had toed them off. They crashed into a vase at high velocity judging by the unmistakable noise of expensive porcelain breaking on the stone floor. 

_Heh_. That guy was fucking wasted. 

“Stupid shitty...shit. _Fuck_ ,” Sanji huffed as he stared at the shards, carefully coiffed hair in complete disarray, sticking up at the forehead, some of it curling over his eyebrow in a double spiral. He already looked like a hot mess, cheeks flushed, eyes too bright and his movements were far too sluggish in their forced casualness. 

Zoro wondered distantly if he could get him to look even more wrecked by pushing him face-first into the mattress, mouth full of downy feathers. It’d certainly be diverting to see him try to wriggle out from underneath Zoro’s bulk, arch that flexible back until his ass was perfectly round in those tight dress pants. Now wouldn't that be a sight?

“Nami’s gonna have your head for this,” Zoro pointed out nonchalantly. 

“I’ll just tell her it was you, clumsy idiot that you are, hah.”  
  
“As if she’ll believe that.”  
  
“Whatever.” Shrugging, Sanji pulled at his tie to loosen it in a well practiced motion but did not take it off. Instead, he left it dangling around his neck, the action aborted and abandoned in favor of unbuttoning his shirt until he reached his belt at which he stared in confusion for a moment. Apparently that whole undressing business was too bothersome and the ero-cook gave up after a moment of fumbling with the buckle. He got it open alright, but not much more. 

When he looked up, he noticed Zoro’s grin and his dazed expression turned into a flustered scowl. “What's so funny, you second rate lumberjack, haah? Never seen a man undress?”

“Mhm, can’t remember that I have, if that’s what you call undressing,” Zoro shrugged and did not break eye contact as the idiot swayed rather than stalked towards the bed with the thick, wine infused aura of angry intentions. His ludicrous bluff was further undermined by the fact that he had to hold onto the bed post for one precarious moment as he regained his balance. Zoro rarely took him seriously at the best of times, but right now Sanji was as intimidating as an ocean-drenched Chopper.

“Or a man,” Zoro added.

“Joke’s on you.” Smiling broadly, Sanji put his knees on the mattress and crawled up toward Zoro’s prone form until his tall, slim shadow hovered above him, highlighted by the warm back-glow of the dying embers. He was truly a vision if it hadn’t been for the graceless shifting to no coubt counteract the world spinning around him.

“You were _watching_ me. Freaking pervert,” the cook drawled in something akin to triumph. Even with his hands planted next to Zoro’s shoulders, he was clearly having a hard time to keep himself from toppling over, his fingers digging into the bedding. It wasn’t often that the idiot drank more than his share, but it was always incredibly hilarious to see him macho-posturing when he was entirely off his game (not that he had any to begin with). 

Zoro snickered and Sanji’s face grew even redder.

“Oi,” he growled, grabbing the fabric of Zoro’s dress shirt to yank at it until it came loose from the haramaki he’d refused to take off for the banquet. “Undress too. It’s only...fair, yeah. Do that.” 

“You want me naked, huh?” Zoro arched an eyebrow and shifted a little to the side, tilting his head to peer up into the idiot’s face. This close, he could feel the heat of his skin, the warm puffs of alcohol-scented breath rushing over his cheeks and Zoro was thoroughly tempted to touch Sanji’s side, run his palm into the gaping shirt and over flexing muscles just to see him falter.

“No, I want you to,... the thing. The thing I want you to,” Sanji murmured nonsensically and fiddled with the buttons on Zoro’s shirt like they held the answers to all the mysteries in the world. “Get this off already." 

“You’re a fucking moron.”

“You’re the moron.” 

“Whatever you say, _Hoge_.” 

Sanji just glowered at him, deliberately pulling at his collar and lapels to make a point and ripping some of the buttons' stitchings in the process of his taunt. Zore simply shrugged. Wasn’t like it was his shirt. 

Sanji tugged at his shirt again. “C’mon, you stupid gorilla.”

“Nope. You do it if you’re so eager.”   
  
“Who’s eager, _huh_?” Sanji’s face grew even redder, his eyebrow almost uncurling in irritation but he never once stopped working Zoro’s shirt open. “You’re just a lazy piece of shit.” 

His slurred muttering stopped abruptly once he’d shoved Zoro’s haramaki over his head, tousling his hair and causing his earrings to chime in the process. Considering Zoro trained half-naked most of the time anyhow, it wasn’t that unusual a sight. That didn’t stop Sanji from cursing low under his breath though, his gaze drawn to the taut expanse of skin like a magnet as he pushed the shirt further off Zoro's shoulders to bunch around the elbows. 

“ _Damn_.” His voice sounded a little shaky and he wetted the corner of his mouth with a pink tongue. He snapped his head up at Zoro’s chuckle. 

“Something the matter?” 

Sitting up slowly, Zoro tugged the sleeves off his arms, tossing the shirt away and inadvertently showing off the ripple of his muscles the way he knew always got the idiot hot and bothered. As predicted, Sanji’s eyes dropped down to where he’d wanted them to when he lay back down and lazily scratched where the waistband hung low on his hips. 

“You’re fucking _hot_ ,” Sanji blurted out unchecked, then immediately closed his jaw with a click of teeth like he couldn’t believe he’d actually said that out loud. 

“Who's the pervert now,” Zoro mocked and made himself more comfortable by angling an arm behind his head to cushion it. 

"Not it.” The look on his face was entirely unguarded, like he had trouble swallowing as his eyes tracked the bulge of Zoro’s biceps, fingers twitching as if wanting to stroke down to his armpit, even going so far as reaching out. It almost put him off balance and Zoro absently wondered whether the guy was gonna pass out and faceplant on him. But Sanji only swayed for a moment before he managed to catch himself and straighten up with one hand near Zoro's waist. There was a shrewd little glint in his eye, a ridiculous eyebrow raised like he was partial to a silent joke as he nudged Zoro’s thighs further apart to settle between them.

Zoro had only a moment to appreciate the view of that golden crown dipping forward before the devastating heat of the cook's open mouth was on his neck, smearing wet and intimate across his skin. 

_Oh shit._

“What,” his voice sounded a little strangled from the way his heart lurched up into his throat. His hands came up on a reflex, grabbing the infuriating guy by the shoulders as his weight sunk down on him further. 

“What _what_ ,” that dumb twink murmured back unperturbed, his rough voice vibrating against Zoro’s skin where he flickered his tongue over his Adam's apple. 

His hands, too, didn’t remain idle; the calloused palms seemed to be everywhere, stroking from his hips up to his waist, over his scar, his pecs, mouth dropping further and further down his throat, towards his chest.

“The hell you think you're doing, bastard," Zoro asked tightly once Sanji started to deliberately suck the skin between his teeth, enough to leave bruises. Enough to make Zoro _gasp_. 

"Sampling the seaweed, what’s it look like?" Sanji looked up enough for his eye color to bleed between his lashes, a stark contrast to the blush residing on his cheeks. “Do you mind?” 

“You’re drunk.”

“Am not,” he drawled, mouthing the raised edges of his scar, dotting hungry, open kisses on each stitch mark. Zoro would have called the gesture sweet, if he had not known for a fact there was not one single devoted bone in the cook’s body when it came to him. Still, his touch was lingering, setting Zoro’s skin on fire and he had problems wrestling his vocal chords back in order; to not just pull im closer by the back of his neck.

He probably shouldn’t give in and let that… _thing_ between them to turn into what it usually did when alcohol was involved and the blond bastard got too trashed to remember he hated everything Zoro-shaped. No doubt by tomorrow Sanji would give him hell if Zoro allowed him to continue down this trajectory. And this time there wasn’t even the convenient excuse of a fight to instigate a heated tumble against the next available surface. Just Sanji and his dumb libido that showed its true face only when he was thoroughly intoxicated, not holding back one inch. 

That dinner wine must have been more spiced than he’d realised.

When he felt the cook’s tongue lick into the shallow dip of his navel like it was the most delicious oyster, he reached for that golden mop of hair in warning.

“ _Cook_ ,” he ground out, forcefully unclenching his jaw.

But that dumb twink knew him far too well, never once stopping his self-indulgent work even as Zoro tugged at a fistful of hair. He merely hummed, _pleased_ , letting Zoro feel the scrape of teeth mixed into the soft-warm suction of his mouth; poignant, sharp little bites along the taut plane of his lower abdomen. Greedy like he couldn’t get enough. There was something undeniably erotic about the whole ordeal and Zoro let his head drop back into the pillow, biting the inside of his cheek to suppress a groan when the curly bastard reached the hard endpoint of his scar on the opposite hip bone.

“What’s wrong, mossy?” Sanji spared him a crooked grin, idly tracing below his navel with the tip of his tongue. He was surprisingly sensitive there, _vulnerable_ , and the cook must have noticed the hitch in his breath too for he repeated the motion, hungrier this time, all along his lower abdomen, until goosebumps prickled over Zoro’s arms. “Too much already?” 

“Fuck off,” he managed to grate out even as he involuntarily melted into the touch, closing his eye. Which was a stupid idea, because the moment he did he became acutely aware of the cook above him: the heat of his skin, everywhere those nimble, calloused hands teased, the way that dumb beard stood in delectable contrast to the dirty kisses smearing across his abs. Lower.

“Yeah? You sure?” That low murmur tickled his stomach as one warm hand settled on the inside of his thigh and pushed his legs further apart. Zoro didn’t resist, his pants stretching pleasantly across his groin and sending sparks up his spine. 

"That's what I thought,” Sanji sounded pleased when he didn’t answer and that dewy-soft bottom lip kept dragging across his skin. 

At the unmistakable clink of a belt buckle being opened and pulled through the loops of his waistband, Zoro’s good eye snapped open again like he’d been whipped.

“You—,” he started with a grunt. His ears were ringing hot with his own elevated pulse as he watched the zipper being pulled down over a too obvious bulge in his underwear. 

"Eager after all, huh?" Swirly had the nerve to chuckle, a warm, sultry burst of air that stirred the fine hairs on his skin. 

"Not as much as you, shitty dartbrow." 

" _Feh_ , we'll see. I’ll show you the, _uhhh_ ,... show you the stuff.”

“The _stuff_?” Zoro barked a laugh.

Sanji sent him a challenging glare from beneath his fringe, fingers digging into Zoro’s thighs in warning but it only made the flutter in his stomach worse. Helplessly, he watched as Sanji nosed along the hard outline through his boxer briefs, feeling himself swell and pulse to complete hardness as the cook mapped the shape of his waiting dick with his mouth. There was the barest touch of tongue where precum had seeped into the fabric, no more than a light tap, yet it felt like an electric current all the same, a liquid heat that spread from his gut towards his groin, and Zoro’s head fell back once more with a quiet groan.

"You want something?" That smoky voice had dropped to a lower register, a pleasant vibration that shivered up the most sensitive part, goading Zoro to renew his fistful of Sanji's hair. 

"Shut up and get to it,” he ground out between clenched teeth, and inadvertently gave Sanji's hair a tug. He tried not to twitch up into the sensation, to press Sanji closer but it was a futile attempt. 

“Bossy...mossy,” Sanji paused, then gave a drunk laugh at his own rhyme and snapped the elastic waistband playfully. He’d moved further down between Zoro's open legs and now lay in a half-sprawl with an expression that Zoro could only describe as ravenous. He was breathing hard through his open mouth, his pink tongue darting over his bottom lip after his gaze dropped back down to Zoro's lap. 

In a surprisingly coordinated move, he pulled Zoro’s underwear and trousers down to just below his ass, hardly caring to wait long enough for Zoro to lift his hips in reflex before he freed his cock to bounce in a lazy arc onto his stomach. 

“ _Ah shit_ ,” Sanji moaned in appreciation, that goddamn pervert, as he carded his fingernails through the trail of short hair before grabbing him around the base, finally giving it a good squeeze and relieving some of that pressure. It was almost with reverent care that he stroked up to the dripping tip like he couldn’t believe the sheer size of it, like he’d never had his hand around it before. Zoro would have been flattered had he not been so turned on.

Pushing on hand underneath Zoro’s thigh to curl around to his hip, Sanji shifted back, his bottom lip pink and wet and _holy fuck, he's really gonna blow me_ , Zoro realised with a jolt of unchecked excitement. But nothing could have prepared him for the reality of the cook dipping his head down, the sensation of that tongue making close acquaintance with the flared head of his cock, licking up a sinful stripe along the underside of it with a relish that idiot cook usually reserved for intricate dishes.

Grabbing the pillow with his free hand for support, his whole focus narrowed down to where Sanji’s lips sealed around his dick, drawing him in with a slack jaw, inch by stiff inch, before pulling back just so. His hips followed the motion on their own accord, twitching up for more friction, more suction, but Sanji’s palm came down hard on his abdomen, keeping him grounded the same time he was taking him apart with each bob of his head.

It left Zoro at a complete loss at what to do, where to put his hands. If he should do something, _say_ something. It wouldn’t be the first time the prick left him hanging because Zoro had spooked him with the truth of their actions. He’d rather not break the spell that the other man seemed to be under. 

Their usual encounters did not go like this, a fast handjob was more the norm. Sometimes even harsh kissing, groping the cook's ass, pushing a spit-slick finger into him, _yeah_ , he'd done that, grinding his hips into the lanky blond until they'd both come fast and messy in their own pants, but _this_? 

Zoro had never fathomed it’d be something the cook would be willing to try in the first place. He’d never pushed for it either. In hindsight, he really should have known better by now that Sanji was just chicken-shit, not uninterested and going down on his knees for another guy didn’t seem such a big deal after all. And to think that just a week ago the conceited bastard had tried to convince Zoro that he was not willing to get distracted by a marimo muscle head and his stupid hormones any longer. That they both needed to focus on their dreams, that he was straight, 100% not interested in dick, _at all,_ even if he _may_ have moaned at the sight of Zoro’s hard cock pressed against his own more than once. 

What a crock of shit that had been.

 _Straight my ass,_ Zoro thought deliriously, feeling himself slide over the flat of Sanji’s tongue, into the softness of his mouth, surrounded by devastating _heat_. That guy was as straight as a cooked noodle, almost taking him to the hilt without so much a hitch in his breath and Zoro couldn’t hold back the harsh noise any longer. Sanji’s eyes flashed up for a fraction of a second, watching him intently, but Zoro couldn’t have cared less in that moment, pulling Sanji closer by his hair until he could feel himself inching deeper and breaching the back of his throat. His lips were stretched perfectly wide around him and Zoro didn’t know what else to do but squeeze Sanji's neck and shoulder in encouragement to keep going. And he did, too, not so much gagging but drooling down his own chin, into his light beard, smearing precum and saliva along the rest of Zoro that wouldn’t fit just yet. 

To compensate for the missing inches, he’d wrapped his long, slender fingers around the base to stroke up the same time he lifted his head. There was no way Zoro would last with that pace, indulgent but intense, not one moment of respite. Trapped in this devastating ebb and flow, he never wanted it to stop, even the occasional scrape of teeth lighted up his nerves.

Then Sanji got his legs under himself, sat up into a kneeling position with his hands on each side of Zoro’s hips. The changed angle allowed him to swallow past what had been comfortable and he heralded Zoro’s length deeper into his throat with a needy whimper. Zoro nearly ripped the pillow case from the pleasure just as Sanji’s nose brushed the overheated skin of his pubic bone before pulling back slowly, _messily_ , until all Zoro knew was _hot, wet, tight._

“ _Fffuck_ ,” his bottom lip slipped free from between the prison of his teeth on a ragged moan. 

It was hard to keep his eye open, though he wanted to watch, very much so. See the ruin on the cook’s face, flushed even to the tips of his ears, lips swollen and opening wide for him, tongue dragging along the underside of his cock. He’d never witnessed anything as obscene as this and his gaze locked with Sanji’s over where he was licking into the dripping slit. That view was like a gutting punch to the stomach. 

At this rate, he was most definitely gonna come; could already feel it low in his groin, a warm pressure that _throbbed_ , upon the sure squeeze of Sanji’s fist around him. 

“You better move off,” he warned breathlessly when the cook rolled the tight drum of his balls in one careful palm, adding fuel to the roaring fire. 

“Yeah, and why's that? Can’t hold back?” A smirk. 

”Maybe,” he managed to say through the thick fog, shifting his hips just so, muscles in his lower abdomen tensing. The pinpricks of Sanji’s fingertips dug in harder in direct counter-action. It just made Zoro want it more. “—maybe I shouldn't, teach you a lesson.” 

“And what lesson would that be?“ Sanji asked in a voice that had turned hoarse but no less gloating and he gently mouthed along the soft folds of his foreskin, teasing him, as if he’d done it a million times before. The sensation travelled all the way up even to Zoro's teeth, he was clenching his jaw so hard. _Holy shit_ , who’d taught him that? He’d kill those guys. 

" _Cook_ ," Zoro most definitely _didn’t_ whimper when Sanji’s warm palm stroked up to meet his mouth again in a messy affair of spit and tongue before taking him deep again, his other hand holding Zoro’s impatient hips hostage in a deliciously unforgiving grip. 

By now, he was aching for release, panting and his grip became forceful in the soft, golden hair, clenching and unclenching his fist in the tangled mess until Sanji fucking _moaned_ with it. The low, wet noise around his cock as he was being swallowed over and over again nearly did him in. 

Just a little more, one lick, one stroke, come down his throat, on his tongue, his cheek, _whatever_ , _just_ —  
  
But Sanji shook off his grip and let go of him entirely. Instead of continueing, he sat up on his knees to fumble with the buttons at his own waistband. 

“Do it,” came the order once Sanji had successfully yanked down his underwear enough to free his own hard length. He was panting, uncoordinated, almost trembling.

“Huh?” Zoro blinked stupidly through the haze.

“Bring yourself off,” Sanji repeated. His eyes were fixed on where Zoro’s rigid dick was arching over his stomach, shuddering with each inhale, pulsing in time with his galloping heartbeat. “I wanna see it.”

“What, uhh...,” he needed a moment to gather his thoughts, to come down from the almost-high. He'd been so fucking close, fuck. The sudden loss and cold air rushing in made him all the more aware of just how hot the cook’s mouth had been around him. "Just watch?” 

“Mhm,” Sanji made a low noise of affirmation in the back of his throat, akin to a growl. 

Under normal circumstances Zoro would have taken issue with the cook bossing him around so brazenly, but he'd have been lying if he said it didn’t excite him too and he wasn’t going to miss his window of opportunity to finally come, even if it was by his own hand. 

“Alright, fine,” Zoro agreed gruffly after a tense moment of sizing each other up.  
  
“Yeah?” Even when biting his bottom lip, Sanji really couldn’t hide the triumphant smile filling his cheeks.  
  
Scoffing, Zoro ignored him and pushed himself back for a better position. He didn’t really fancy lying down and being cum on like he were a mere wet fantasy. 

The cook, too, shuffled forward and after a moment of drunken contemplation, twisted around to kick off his dress pants and underwear. Down they went in a tangled mess which Sanji shoved away with his foot to the end of the bed. Then he swung one (oh so fucking long) leg over Zoro's thigh with his small ass precariously balanced on top, one fist bunching up the fabric of Zoro’s open waistband to keep himself upright. 

Zoro took his weight easily, enjoying the unobstructed view.

Half-naked and flushed, Sanji's gloating expression slipped off to reveal an overwhelmed awe as he came to realise just how close they were now; all the places their thighs pressed pressed together, the cook's stiff cock just a handwidth from Zoro's where it poked the meet of his hip. He gave an appreciative grunt once Zoro’s tanned hand settled around himself in a familiar grip-and-stroke. 

He was still slick from saliva and precum, and Zoro pumped once, twice, until his legs started shaking from the strain of not dislodging Sanji above him. Sanji mirrored his action with his right, copying Zoro’s movements after a slight delay like the wanton display had distracted him. Not enough to stop him from running his mouth, though. 

"That's it, _yeah_ , just like that.” His voice had become nearly unrecognizable. Its rasp did Zoro in as much as watching the cook in turn; how the corded muscles tensed in the other man’s lower arm with each jerky movement, the flat of his stomach peeking through his open shirt, down to where he was bringing himself off to Zoro with slow but insistent strokes. The developed muscles in his thighs kept flexing with each aborted twitch of his hips whenever Zoro rolled up his hips into his own fist more for the benefit of his spectator than his own pleasure. 

“I can't believe— _shit_ , you turn me on so much,” the cook continued on a hoarse groan. His free hand somehow found Zoro's right pec without falling over. He gave it an appreciative squeeze and Zoro's rhythm faltered. 

"Fucking love the way your tits feel," Sanji slurred, but his knowing smirk was unmistakable. 

Next time, Zoro would just _make_ him swallow.

This wasn’t gonna take long, not with the way Sanji’s eyes followed each hasty stroke of Zoro’s hand with rapt attention, looming above him like a hungry predator. His agile hand never stopped its well-practiced motion, matching Zoro’s own rhythm beat for beat, flicking his wrist whenever he did after a short delay. They were close enough for their knuckles to brush on each upstroke and Zoro twisted his grip just so they would.

“Gonna come,” the words tripped drunkenly over his tongue once Sanji lost himself to his own touch, tipping his head back on a silent moan and baring the strong column of his throat. 

“Show me, wanna see it,” the cook murmured urgently. The smoky timber of his voice curled around Zoro's ear in a breathy caress, tempting him to let go, to give himself over. 

Breathing hard through his mouth, he let his gaze linger on Sanji’s hand, the way he pushed into his own touch, a desperate blur of movement and obscene sound. Even going so far as tilting his pelvis forward in a sinful, calculated twist only he was capable of until Zoro felt dizzy with want.

Blood had started to trickle down his nose but he didn’t stop to wipe at it, just let it drip into his beard, onto his tongue as he licked it off his upper lip shamelessly. Even that was hot as fuck to see, unapologetic in its raw lust.

“You have no idea—,” Sanji started, _moaned_ , closing his eyes only for a fraction before staring at Zoro again. His gaze was shockingly intense. “No idea how much I really—"

Zoro never found out what it was that Sanji really wanted. The pressure behind his balls built to an unbearable level with each additional squeeze to his dick, drowning out Sanji’s voice. His orgasm rolled through him like a great wave as he came on a harsh groan, deep pulses that nearly _hurt_. His whole body seized up with it, coating his stomach in scalding spurts until it felt like he was aching from the relief of that sweet pain, the dizziness from holding his breath in. 

Still twitching from the aftershocks, he became dimly aware of his surroundings again only by increments and in the half-dark of the room, his eye had trouble refocusing. He had to blink several times before his gaze fell back on the cook.

“ _Oh fuck_ ,” Sanji wore the most pitiful expression yet. A scrunched up pinch to his absurd eyebrows, his mouth half-open, frozen in his own quest for completion. His shirt swayed with the frantic movement of his arm and Zoro couldn’t help the grin spreading over his own face, gloating hard enough for his cheeks to hurt when the idiot sobbed once but didn’t seem to be able to finish. Whiskey dick was one mean son of a bitch, sometimes. Fucking deserved.

“C’mere,” Zoro took pity on him when it became clear he really couldn’t. “Lemme take care of that.”

“Zoro,” Sanji groaned, but not in protest as Zoro yanked him forward by the tie still around his flushed throat and into a possessive kiss. He didn’t even flinch when Zoro’s hand forcefully cupped the back of his neck, letting himself be pulled in further, quite willingly, in fact.

His lips were incredibly soft, swollen and hot, just _right_ , already parted for him and Zoro nipped the lower lip playfully before he slid his tongue against Sanji’s in a heady rush, pushing in deep. He wanted to taste more of that sweet wine, the slight hint of tobacco, the heady tang of his own desire still on Sanji’s tongue. With his fingers tangled in the fine hair, he kept a tight grip to guide him for that perfect angle as he sought out the solid curve of him with a sure hand. He was rock hard, painfully so, hot to the touch, but if a mere handjob would have done the trick, Sanji wouldn’t have needed his help.

“Please,” Sanji gasped into the frantic press of mouths, between the bite of teeth, dizzyingly familiar in its urgency and his breaths were uneven and jagged against Zoro’s parted lips.

“Lift your ass,” he ordered, breaking the kiss. Zoro could see the wheels turning in Sanji’s head before he complied in sluggish motions by sitting up on his knees, legs spread wide over Zoro’s hips, one hand immediately reaching for the knee angled up behind to steady himself. Zoro didn’t waste much time teasing, gathering some of the still warm spunk on his stomach before sliding his fingers into the dark, private space between Sanji’s ass cheeks. 

“Ohgod, that’s dirty,” the cook gasped at the first tentative press against the furled skin. Light as a feather, testing the resistance by circling his finger until he felt the tight clench give at the gentlest nudge.

“Want me to stop?” Zoro glanced at Sanji’s erection, at the moisture gathering at the tip which he spread evenly with a few passes of his hand. He could feel the frantic pulse throbbing underneath his skin.

“No, _ahh_.” The cook’s hold on his knee became biting as he slid his finger home up to the last knuckle until he felt the slight bump just a few inches in, swollen already like someone else had been playing with it. The action earned him a whimper and he slid his finger out only long enough to gather some more of his own cum to press back inside. Two this time, tangled and squeezed by the hot band of muscles that sucked him right in. It didn’t take much at all for the desperate noises to spill from the idiot’s throat as he pumped his slippery fingers in and out of him, making sure to rub over his good spot each time. 

“Don’t stop, fuck, _don’t_.” The cook sounded dirty, downright wrecked, little gasps that punctured the smooth rhythm of the deep caress. He could feel the strong flex of Sanji’s hips, trying to rock down onto his fingers, then forward again into the deliberate strokes along his aching dick as if he were unable to decide which sensation he craved first. 

Alcohol and the need to come was one heady incentive, it seemed. Sanji wasn’t even putting up his token protest at Zoro touching his ass, just threw his head back with his mouth open in a voiceless moan. He was bright red with his hair stuck to his burning cheeks, a sinful debauched display of ruin just for Zoro. He couldn’t stop drinking it in, breathless from the feeling of the cook around his fingers, so goddamn tight that every time he slightly spread them apart, Sanji made that punched-out, needy noise. The one he only made when he was really truly drunk and so into it, that he completely forgot about his inhibitions, like he was just _asking_ for it, for Zoro to press him into the bedding with his ass up. 

Shit, one of these days, he really should take advantage of him like that just to finally seal the deal on this twisted thing between them. 

“You close?” 

“Mhm.”

“Then _come_ ,” he murmured into Sanji’s blood-hot ear.  
  
As if on cue, Sanji grew tense as his release rushed him in aborted, jerky thrusts, hardly stifling the whimper against Zoro’s shoulder as he fell forward. He seemed half-delirious, his swollen hole closing around his fingers in spasms, each wave pulsing against his fingertips, into his palm, that added to the mess already on his stomach. It was fucking hot seeing the cook lose it like that and sure to be a good memory for lonely, cold nights ahead.

As soon as the cook slumped against him, sighing contentedly with tremors running through his narrow frame, Zoro lowered them both down onto the mattress. Sanji’s arms came up around him in a weak imitation of an embrace.

“Hnnm, yeah, salty kelp,” he murmured nonsensically. Before Zoro could even ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, a loud snore pierced his eardrums. 

Fucking typical.

* * *

Needless to say, Sanji did not have a good morning. In fact, he’d even go so far as to say he had an incredibly disastrous morning, the manner by which he was woken notwithstanding. Not only was there a big moss gorilla occupying his bed, he was also naked, rubbing an unmentionable stiff thing against Sanji’s body where he should never, ever be touched by a man. To top of it, the heavy arm draped around his middle didn’t really offer much leeway in terms of an easy escape and the warm, soft kisses trailing over the sensitive skin of his nape spelled out his current predicament in clear terms: Zoro was awake, they’d probably messed around, _again_ , and he was awfully, terribly hungover and Zoro was awfully, terribly aroused. 

God fucking damnit.

“Marimo,” Sanji said eventually. The scratchy quality of his voice surprised him, like he’d caught a cold without realising and he cleared his throat to chase it away. No luck. That rough feeling in his vocal cords stayed right where it was. What the hell had he been doing last night?

The big lout behind him rumbled in acknowledgement, trying to lull him back into the safety of dreams and unconscious bliss with the slow, soothing touch of one calloused palm, rubbing over his naked chest and lower, along the top of his thigh. To his great shame it was not dread that thrilled up his spine. Shitty, stupid-ass, plant-headed pervert. 

“I thought we, hngh, agreed,” he tried to keep the waver out of his voice, betraying his nerves. Which wasn’t difficult because the slightest movement of his neck reminded him that the linings of his brain had been marinating in scotch bonnet pepper only to now be tenderized by a meat pounder on steroids. And that soft flutter in his stomach very quickly turned into something else. Where was Chopper when you needed him?  
  
“Did we?” Zoro asked back, never once stopping to nose along his shoulder and neck. 

On second thoughts, it was better Chopper was _not_ here. Or anyone else of their crew, for that matter because Zoro’s hand had found his morning erection and kept stroking it in slow deliberation, shocking his system into overdrive. How the hell did his body manage to withstand two such contrary sensations at once? 

“You know— you know it’s-, that is, I mean—,” he started but also _fuck it, fuck it and fuck it again_ , Zoro’s teeth against his pulse point always managed to turn his knees weak, no matter how much he told himself it didn’t. 

“You talk too much,” Zoro’s breath was warm against his ear, a firm, tantalizing pressure that absolutely did not rise any goosebumps on his arms whatsoever. His hips absolutely did not buck into Zoro's sure fist either, muscle tensing from how good it felt. Because it didn't. Although he maybe didn't totally hate it when that ridiculous large dick slid along his ass, nudging right behind his balls. But it was still a shitty morning, no matter how much Zoro’s filthy kisses left him breathless once he was rolled onto his back and buried underneath that muscle mass. 

Really, he blamed the buffet and that badly corked, too strong wine. 

**Author's Note:**

> I originally had a different ending in mind but then decided Sanji giving into the very convincing argument of Zoro's touch pleased me more (◡‿◡✿) Thank you for reading. MWAH!


End file.
